“He was proud and stubborn, and all the ton looked up to him. Men curried his favor, women flirted like mad. And all the while he'd been terrified every time he'd opened his mouth.”

“He wanted women to love him, all women, beginning with his mother and going on from there. Therefore, whenever any woman got mad at him, he felt maternal disapproval crashing down upon his shoulders, as if he'd been a naughty boy.”

“He sat up, his chest moving, his mouth open as if he'd run the annual San Francisco Bay to Breakers race in record time instead of, as the event intended, having fun.”

“The next day he woke up feeling like he'd been unshackled from his fat, like he'd been washed clean from his misery, and for a long time he couldn't remember why he felt this way, and then he said her name.”

“Coyness wasn't the only thing Ardetta had been aggressive about and he'd had to summon up all his southern chivalry to turn her down gently. When he'd relented and obliged her with a kiss, she'd been on him like ugly on an ape. He'd narrowly escaped her clutches with his honor intact.”

“Was Chris a man?"Now, there was something to ponder. Was he? He'd been strong and brave, and not stubborn. He'd killed other men, he'd saved other men's lives.He kissed other men. And he'd cried and cried.I closed my eyes. But then the dog said, "What makes a man not a man?"Eyes open, I said, "Kissing another man.""Why?""Why?""Yeah. Is there something unkissable about a man?"I smirked at the black and white furry face. "No, stupid. Women kiss men.""Was Chris a man?”